Thursday, April 2, 2015

Breaking the bread with you, last time

English breakfast was a word
660 minutes later,
I was sieving seconds
collecting hours in white china cups
sugar seeping into my tongue
melting into the silence of my mouth
The city was smelting in sounds
waning woefully in the dirt
 flashy flourscent lights stared into my eyes
as human life fiddled with speed
on half lit roads.

9 pm, the world was wasting 
with the clinking of cutlery 
I curled into a poem
swaddled in blue blotches of apathy
apology and ailing, littered
on thin tissues of recycled paper
while you tried to chew on the ruminants 
of lies sticking to a plate full of rice.

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